Cardinal
by Ronny
Summary: After receiving bad news, Holmes finds himself in a disagreeable situation that it seems only Watson can help him out of.
1. Default Chapter

Cardinal.  
  
*****  
  
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, and even Lestrade I'm afraid aren't mine. I've simply taken to borrowing them for a while from Arthur Conan Doyle. Any other characters thrown in, however, I take full responsibility for.  
  
*****  
  
"They don't even have an inkling, do they?"  
  
"Excuse me? What was that?"  
  
"Look at them all. I suppose in some obscure fashion, one could find it humorous."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't follow."  
  
"I shouldn't worry; neither do they."  
  
Holmes turned back to his window, observing the oblivious individuals who ambled past on their way. I merely gave a silent chuckle and went back to my newspaper. A thought occurred to me and I suddenly looked up and over to my friend by the window,  
  
"Holmes, you really should..."  
  
"I fear your complaint shall have to wait."  
  
"And why is..."  
  
The clattering of footsteps on the stairs answered my question.  
  
Holmes strode over to the door and swung it open to reveal a slightly out of breath Lestrade. He blinked at the form of Sherlock Holmes, ready and waiting for his visit, before moving into the room, holding his hat as he turned back to address us both. However, Holmes was quicker with his question,  
  
"Good evening, and how may I be of assistance?"  
  
I noted the way that Lestrade shuffled slightly from one foot to the other, just as Holmes must have observed.  
  
"Well, it's a slightly...awkward matter."  
  
"Why don't you sit down?" I asked, trying to put the obviously nervous man at ease.  
  
"No. No thank you, I am quite alright."  
  
"Then perhaps if you explained?" Holmes said as he made his way to his chair and eased himself down. Once comfortable he was ready to listen to Lestrade's appeal.  
  
"Of course." Lestrade replied but then stopped. He finally took a breath and began with a rush of words, "If you came across a murder victim, cause of death obvious, the surrounding area clear except for one item tainted with the blood of the said victim, however, that item belonging to a different person, who is known to have been with the victim a few hours before the discovery of his body, what would you make of it?"  
  
Holmes blinked as if confused, and then answered quickly and smoothly,  
  
"I would consider it a very valid indicator as to where to start my inquiries. But surely that is not the dilemma you wish to discuss with me?"  
  
"Well..." he hesitated, "In a way it is. You see...the item in question is a cuff-link, and there is no doubt that it is yours. I have seen you wear it on many occasions. And it has been said by three separate witnesses that you were with the deceased mere hours before he was found."  
  
"And his name?" Holmes asked coolly.  
  
"James Wilkinson."  
  
Holmes eyes pressed shut for a moment, but they flickered open again so swiftly that the significance of the gesture was lost on Lestrade.  
  
"I see."  
  
There was a somewhat awkward silence for a long moment before Holmes spoke again,  
  
"In that case, I shall leave immediately to start my inquiries."  
  
"Actually Holmes," Lestrade hastily intervened before Holmes had even moved from his chair, "I cannot allow that." Holmes frost filled glare hit him and Lestrade gave me a quick glance. However, I can only imagine that my expression was nothing but incredulous, he would not find the support he needed to go on there. He managed to look back evenly at Holmes, "You see, there are some who are saying that the cuff-link and sightings are evidence enough to have you arrested."  
  
Holmes jumped to his feet. "That is absolutely outrageous, man!" Holmes snapped.  
  
"I know, I know," Lestrade attempted to be as placating as possible, "And that is why I have persuaded them to give me some time to follow my own investigations. However, my request was allowed only under the condition that you would remain here. Can you assure me that you will not leave this house?"  
  
"You have my word." Holmes replied quietly. Lestrade nodded. Had it been anyone other than Holmes, Lestrade would not have been as trusting, but it appeared that more had grown between the two than I previously had thought.  
  
"Then if you'll excuse me, I can expect a busy day tomorrow. Good night, Holmes, Watson." Lestrade said with a nod to each of us. However, when he reached the door, he turned back to look a little awkwardly at Holmes. "Even though you did not commit the crime, witnesses have made it clear that you knew the man. I am sorry for your loss." And with that he left, shutting the door behind him and making his own way out.  
  
Holmes collapsed back down into his chair and an unnerving silence ensued. I shifted awkwardly in my chair, opening my mouth to say something, but I almost immediately snapped it shut again. A moment later my mouth opened a second time, but again, words failed me.  
  
I finally pushed myself decisively out of my chair and went and poured us both a drink. I stood in front of Holmes with his glass held out to him, but he made no move to retrieve it.  
  
"Holmes?" I said softly.  
  
He looked up at me and took the glass without a word.  
  
I settled back down into my chair, that is, I got as settled as I could in the situation. The silence dragged on as I sipped at my drink. I finally worked up enough courage, or at least had had enough to drink, to allow me to speak,  
  
"So who was this James Wilkinson?"  
  
"A man who is no concern of yours." Holmes snapped in that sharp tone of his that I had long ago learned to hate. I tried to ignore the fact that the words stung as if I had been physically struck.  
  
"I am sorry, Holmes, I was only..."  
  
"Curious? Interested? Prying?" he said, jumping from his chair and taking a step toward me.  
  
"That is not fair..." I said, rising from my own chair.  
  
"Isn't it? I am sorry, Doctor, but you shall have to find your inane gossip for your scribbling elsewhere."  
  
I moved so I was only inches away from him. It is rare that when someone hurts me in such a way with words that I do not retaliate in some way. However this time, I managed to restrain myself to a reply, I admit, of harsh tones,  
  
"I am sorry Holmes, it appears I have touched onto a sensitive subject, perhaps it was foolish of me to venture on to the subject, after all, you have only just heard of his death. However, anything I have asked I have done so out of concern for your welfare, not for my own incentive, a suggestion I find highly offensive."  
  
"Oh believe me Watson, not nearly as offensive as being accused of murder."  
  
My expression softened then, as I knew that, of course, he was right. I placed my hands on his shoulders in what I hoped was a reassuring fashion and softened my tone,  
  
"I realise that my friend, and I will do whatever is necessary to prove them wrong. We will get to the bottom of all this. I promise."  
  
Holmes glanced at one of my hands on his shoulder with confusion and then back up at me. Our eyes locked and I was aware that he was searching mine for something. He finally laid his hands on mine and gently put them back down to my sides. I remember thinking it an odd action but I didn't say anything. To my astonishment, colour started to appear on his cheeks.  
  
"Thank you." He practically stammered. "Er...Goodnight." And he moved off in an almost clumsy fashion to his room.  
  
I shook my head with concern at his odd behaviour, but at the time, I naively put it down to the day's events. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
When Holmes appeared in the morning, he seemed his normal self, if that is at all possible, however 'seemed' was the correct term as there were little details that betrayed his troubled mind.  
  
"There is only one possible course of action." Holmes stated over breakfast, or at least, over his untouched plate of food that he had almost instantly pushed away.  
  
"And what is that?" I asked expectantly.  
  
"I would have thought that was evident, Watson. I cannot leave these rooms, you, however, can. You will carry out my investigations for me." He never took his attentive eyes off me as he explained, "I have composed a list of people that you should pay a visit on. And there is a letter for Lestrade."  
  
My shock must have been evident to him, "I couldn't possibly!"  
  
"And why not? You know my methods, and you are an intelligent man."  
  
"But surely..."  
  
Holmes' voice softened, "It is the only way, Watson. You must serve as my eyes and ears, and if possible you must start this very morning."  
  
"But I cannot just..." leave all my other responsibilities is what I was going to say, but the statement was left incomplete, because I knew that I would. I thought back to the previous night, I had promised him that I would do anything to help him. And I would. So instead, I simply nodded, reached out and took the list of names and envelope, and went to fetch my hat and coat. As I went to leave, Holmes called out to me.  
  
"Watson..."  
  
I turned to face him questioningly. He gave me the barest of smiles, the first smile that I had seen on his features since he had received the unpleasant news the previous day, and said simply,  
  
"Thank you."  
  
I produced a warm smile to show that he was always welcome, and went on my way. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
My first job was to call on Lestrade and see what he had come up with, and to get some more details. He welcomed me with a regretful smile.  
  
"I thought I might be seeing you today. I'm afraid there's not a lot to tell, though."  
  
"This is from Holmes." I gave him the envelope, which he opened and read. When he had finished I took a seat, retrieving my pocket book and pencil.  
  
"Why don't you start with how he was killed?" I asked.  
  
He nodded, "Bludgeoned on the back of the head with a blunt instrument of some kind, probably a metal pipe of some sorts."  
  
"So attacked from behind then. How was he found?"  
  
"Reflecting just that," Lestrade motioned with his hand, "sprawled out on his front on the floor of his bedroom. No sign of a forced entry into his flat, or anything else unusual." He paused for a moment, "Except for Holmes' cuff-link held in his right hand."  
  
"Held in his hand?" I repeated with surprise.  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid so."  
  
"There is no doubt that it is his?" I asked, hoping that he would contradict me.  
  
"No doubt at all. It is from the pair that you brought him a few months ago. I commented on them and he told me they were a gift from you."  
  
"I see what you mean." I replied. I knew the ones he meant, a rather rare and distinctive pair. I remembered talking to a jeweller friend of mine, looking for a present for Holmes. He found them out for me especially and I had thought them perfect for him. A unique gift for an extraordinary friend.  
  
"And the witnesses?" I asked, hoping for some better news to take back to Holmes.  
  
"All good friends of the deceased, three all together. Two say they saw Holmes and the deceased walking together about five hours before his body was discovered. The other fellow says he saw the pair going into the deceased's flat about three hours before the body was found. One thing in his favour is that Wilkinson hadn't been dead for long when we got there. Holmes in this letter says that he left at approximately half past eight in the evening. That gives an hour and a half for someone else to have been and gone before the body was discovered at about ten. However, as there is no one to back him up on that, it still doesn't look good."  
  
"Do they not say anything else?"  
  
"Like I said, they're friends of the deceased. They're being rather tight lipped about it. Understandable really. Sometimes a man's reputation is all that will remain after death."  
  
I must confess I was more than a little confused. The confusion on my features seemed to bring about some kind of realisation for Lestrade.  
  
"Oh...sorry. I see." He muttered, unsure of himself. He suddenly rose from his seat, "Well that's about all I can tell you for the moment." He was eager to bring the meeting to an end.  
  
"Thank you for your help." I said, unsure what Lestrade was anxious about. I rose from my chair and headed for the door, hurrying to get back to Holmes. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
I walked into our sitting room, chilled to the bone.  
  
"I have had a call from two police constables." Holmes informed me.  
  
I looked over to where he stood by the fire.  
  
"Questioning you no doubt." I said as I made my way over to my seat.  
  
"Yes. And damned incompetent they were too. A child could have done a better job." He made no effort to hide the indignation in his voice. "And they refused to tell me anything. Me!"  
  
There was no point in commenting so I changed the subject, unfortunately it was not much better. Holmes listened as I repeated everything Lestrade had said. When I had finished he sprang from his chair and began to pace the room with unusual fervour.  
  
"This whole mess is ridiculous!" He was taking his most superior tone now; that was never a good sign. "To think that if I committed a murder I would be foolish enough to leave an item of mine at the scene of the crime!"  
  
He abruptly stopped in front of his window, but just as quickly changed his mind and started to pace again. He started to rant again, and I made no move to stop him.  
  
"James was left handed, not right. I cannot believe that has been overlooked."  
  
My mind was just beginning to work on the relevance of his statement before Holmes continued.  
  
"And has it not occurred to anyone that if I was supposed to have hit him from behind, it would have been quite impossible for him to get hold of my cuff-link before falling unconscious to the floor! In which case he must have either been holding it before hand or it was planted there, either way it does not incriminate me!"  
  
"Yes, you're quite right Holmes." I said, grasping his point.  
  
"Of course I am right."  
  
I shook my head and stood up. I put a restraining hand on his arm to stop his incessant pacing and then guided him down into a chair, moving behind him so that I could put my hands on his shoulders. I started to massage and almost instantly I felt some of his tension fall away, relaxing at my slightest touch.  
  
"That is very good, Watson." He said quietly.  
  
I smiled, "I am glad, but unfortunately you shall have to wait till tonight for me to finish it. I haven't even started on your list yet, and it is nearly midday."  
  
"But surely you will stay for lunch?" He looked up at me with an arched eyebrow.  
  
"No, I'm fine. I must push on." I replied, giving him a friendly tap on his shoulders as I stopped massaging. "I will see you later Holmes."  
  
Steeling myself against the cold, I went to visit the first name on my list. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
The third person on the list was a Robert Kingsley. I still shivered as I moved into Mr. Kingsley's main room, I prayed I would have better luck with him than I had with the previous two.  
  
"Won't you sit down?" Robert asked with an exceptionally charming smile.  
  
I accepted gladly and chose a chair close to the fire. I tried to relax and let the heat treat my throbbing shoulder.  
  
"Dr. Watson, you say?" Robert asked, joining me by the fire.  
  
"Yes, Dr. John Watson." I assured, wondering at the thoughtfulness in his tone.  
  
"Oh yes, of course! You're Mr. Holmes' friend!"  
  
"Er...yes. You're right." I replied, trying to work out how on earth he knew that.  
  
"He talks about you an awful lot." Robert said with a fond smile that reached his intelligent eyes.  
  
"Actually, I am here on his behalf. It is about James Wilkinson." I said trying to give the impression I knew more about the relationship between them than I did.  
  
"On his behalf? Why hasn't he come himself?" his smile started to fade, "Where is Holmes? And where is my brother?" his quick eyes widened and he was looking decidedly panicked as he rose from his seat.  
  
"Your brother? Who is he?"  
  
"James is my brother. Where's James?" he turned to look at me with worried eyes.  
  
"James?" I mumbled back to myself. I checked the list of names again, and there he was, Robert Kingsley - not Wilkinson. "I didn't know he was your brother."  
  
"His parents died when he was young, my father took him in. Where is he? If Holmes is not able to make it in person then something must be wrong."  
  
I rose from my chair and placed a calming hand on his arm. It appeared that he hadn't been informed of his brother's death, and even though I did not feel it my place to let him know, I had been burdened many times with this duty throughout my career, and I knew that I had to tell him.  
  
"I am sorry, Robert. James is dead." I spoke as softly as possible.  
  
For a few moments, all that could be heard was the cracking of the fire as he slid back down into his seat. He finally managed to compose himself. "Murdered I take it."  
  
I was a little surprised, "Yes." I replied simply, not allowing myself to indulge in my curiosities.  
  
"So where is Holmes?" he asked quietly.  
  
"He is at home, he sends his apologies for not being able to come in person."  
  
His quick eyes searched mine. "They think it's him don't they. They think Holmes did it."  
  
"They found his cuff-link at the scene of the crime." I decided I might as well be completely forthright with him now.  
  
"That's nonsense!" I could see anger in those eyes now, "A cuff-link means nothing, he probably accidentally left it with him days ago. Holmes would never do anything like that to him, he cared about James too much."  
  
The last statement caught me off guard. The way he had said it suggested a very close friendship, and a part of my brain was pressing that he meant even more than that, but I shook it off. "I don't believe he is a murderer either, that is why I am here, to make some inquiries for him." I said quietly, almost absently.  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know anything, Doctor. I haven't seen either of them for two days." He looked down at his nervously twisting hands, "Dr. Watson, although Holmes had started to hold back a little, he still loved James. And James, he loved Holmes more than anything, even if in this last year it has been more as friends then lovers. Please, you have to help them. James will not be able to rest in peace until his murderer is brought to justice - and neither will Holmes." 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
"Why did you not tell me?"  
  
I stripped off my snow-dusted coat with harsh movements and flung it over the back of the chair. Angrily throwing my hat down next to it, I folded my arms resolutely across my chest and waited.  
  
"Well that will depend on what you are referring to." Holmes answered easily, moving to pour himself a drink.  
  
"I thought you were just friends."  
  
"I had hoped Robert would have realised that you did not know." He sighed but made no move to face me. "James and I met after a case about five years ago. We continued to see each other and we eventually became lovers. It lasted for about three years. However this last year, we were both aware that my love truly was placed elsewhere. We decided to become just friends again. He never held it against me. We always remained close, and I loved him. In my own way."  
  
I watched the back of his head intently as he shook it slowly from side to side.  
  
"Why on Earth didn't you tell me?" I practically shouted at him. I am ashamed to say that I had lost my temper with him, and even after that highly private confession, I could not simply forget that he had lied to me.  
  
He spun around to face me. I noted the anger that shone in his eyes; and with a mixture of apprehension, interest and even, of all things, sympathy for Holmes, I waited for an explanation. "And just how would you have liked me to do that? Bring him home for dinner and drinks, introduction following something along the lines of 'Watson meet the man who shares my bed', before we disappeared into the bedroom?"  
  
"But why? Why him?" I asked.  
  
"We all need things to hide from the world with - you had your drink, and I had my men," he said with a nearly malicious tone. He continued, "but if you wish to drop my case, then I shall understand."  
  
I realised that Holmes was on the defensive and that I should have given him time and space to calm down, but my anger and hurt had overrun all other logical thought.  
  
"Drop your case?" I couldn't help the incredulous laughter that escaped from my throat before I started shouting, "For someone so observant, you can truly be blind sometimes! I don't want to drop your case! I promised that I would see you out of this. Damn it, Holmes, I would do anything for you...but I will not be lied to. I will not be treated like an imbecile. Like...like a puppet you can use to carry out your wishes, no questions asked. Doing anything to help you while being lied to the whole time...that I will not tolerate. You will treat me with some damned respect Holmes, I deserve it!"  
  
I stopped and willed my breathing to a normal rate. There was an uncomfortable silence, each of us thinking about the words that had been exchanged. It was Holmes that finally broke our silence,  
  
"I never meant to..."  
  
"Yes you did, Holmes. Yes you did."  
  
"I was going to tell you..." he began.  
  
"When? Once you had moved in together?"  
  
I had started to calm a little and was already regretting some of things I had said, but I was still too heated to apologise for my appalling words. He looked at me with pain in those sharp eyes of his. Slowly moving over to me, he stopped so that he was so close I could feel his breath on my skin. He raised his hand and I would not have blamed him if he had struck me. Instead he gently took hold of the side of my face and used his thumb to brush away the tears brimming in my eyes that I hadn't even realised were there.  
  
"I am so sorry, my dearest Watson. I never intended to hurt you." He whispered.  
  
Once the contact was over, he seemed to come back to himself, and again a blush overtook him and he backed away for the door. Only this time, he did so without a word.  
  
I could not allow him to run away, not now. As soon as Holmes had shut his bedroom door I followed him. Slowly opening the door I stepped in, slamming the door in my wake.  
  
His eyes widened, "Do not presume to push me, Watson," his voice was sharp and held a tone of warning. "Get out. Now."  
  
"You're not escaping this time, Holmes. What was all that about?"  
  
"All of what?" Holmes said with nearly as much determination as me, but not quite.  
  
"The way you blush when you touch me. The way you run away." I moved closer and took hold of his hand, "Talk to me, Holmes. Please, I want to know."  
  
Before I knew what was happening, I found myself pressed up against the wall, with Holmes kissing me hard. His tongue was hungrily tasting my mouth whilst his hands roamed from my neck, across my shoulders and down my arms. At first I was shocked and I resisted, however, after a mere moment I found myself responding, my mouth and hands as needful as Holmes.  
  
He finally broke away looking down as if realising for the first time that he was pressed up against me. He then looked up at me, and I found his eyes.  
  
"I'm...I...I have to go." Was all I could manage to mutter as I disentangled myself and fled the room. I stopped only long enough to retrieve my hat and coat before leaving our apartments. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
I wandered aimlessly that night. No, that is not quite true, I walked with the hope of sorting my thoughts out, but where I was walking to, I had no idea. The snow was falling and the bitter cold assaulted me through my rather inefficient coat. I vaguely remember telling myself that this is what happens to fools who run out into the snow so late at night.  
  
The streets were deserted, not another soul in sight. I slowly walked over to the railing and my hands reached out to lean on it so I could look out over the river. The cold had already started to aggravate my shoulder, which was throbbing in protest.  
  
With a shake of my head I turned my thoughts to the events of the last two days. I didn't know where to begin. I was hurt, that much I knew. But by what? The thought that my closest friend enjoyed the company of men rather than women? What could possibly give me that right? Throughout my life, I had always been of the belief that such indulgence was a flaw, some kind of fault, morally wrong. But now? Now Holmes, my dear, remarkable Holmes, had confessed that it was a part of him, how could I possibly continue to think of it in such a manner?  
  
I rested my elbows on the railing and brought my hands up to cover my face as I thought back to Holmes kissing me, and the way in which I had kissed him back. I sighed with frustration as I reluctantly admitted to myself that perhaps I wasn't hurt at the thought of Holmes turning to a man, but at his not turning to me. I let go of the railing, pulling my coat tighter around me and turned to walk away.  
  
Suddenly, I felt a blow of agonizing force strike across the back of my shoulder, already aching from the cold. I fell forward with a grunt of pain and down onto the pavement. The snow was biting into my skin as I readied myself for a next blow, my mind frantically trying to work out what was going on. However, I was thankfully aware of a dog that had started to bark at the disturbance. I heard a muffled curse behind me, then a shuffling sound and I was relieved when I could hear fleeing footsteps.  
  
I could do nothing but lie there for a few moments, trying to get my breath back. I finally ventured pushing myself up off the snow, and with a hiss of pain I managed to get to a kneeling position. I used the nearby railing to pull myself up the rest of the way. I looked up and down the street, no one was in sight and I knew it was pointless to even consider trying to follow my assailant. Leaning heavily on the rail, with a feeling of anxiousness, worried that Holmes would simply throw me back out into the street after running away from him in such a fashion after lecturing him on the very same thing, I realised that I had only one option. 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
I managed to slowly make my way up the stairs. Gently swinging the door to our sitting room open with one hand, I leant heavily in the doorframe and tried to govern my breathing. I saw Holmes sitting on the edge of his chair, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands as he stared into the taunting fire.  
  
"Holmes?" I said rather weakly.  
  
His head snapped around to look at me and as his quick eyes assessed my condition he jumped out of his seat. His strong arms wrapped around me to keep me upright just as I started to slump.  
  
"What happened?" he asked with a concerned frown.  
  
"Someone hit me from behind." I replied quietly.  
  
His frown deepened, "Let's get you to bed and have a look at you."  
  
He got me to my bed and removed my clothes, I remember reddening slightly at his actions, but he didn't seem to notice any discomfort on my part, or at least, he disregarded it.  
  
He turned me over so he could get a look at my back and I heard a sharp intake of breath as he surveyed my shoulder.  
  
"It's not so bad, Holmes. It just took me by surprise." I said quietly as I turned back and carefully sat up.  
  
He left the room and when he came back he held brandy and a glass. "It should be checked by a doctor," he replied firmly as he poured me a glass.  
  
"I shall allow no such thing, Holmes." I said sharply but giving him a grateful smile as I took the glass from him, "As you know perfectly well, I am a doctor, and I say that it is fine." I consumed the contents of the glass in one go.  
  
He shook his head and put the brandy down by the side of my bed. He sat down next to me, "What happened, Watson?"  
  
I explained as quickly as possible, and watched as his body tensed and his expression darkened.  
  
"You will not follow up on this case any further." He said in a carefully controlled tone.  
  
"So you think it has something to do with our inquiries?" I asked easily.  
  
He nodded, "I think it highly probable."  
  
"Then all the more reason to follow up on it." I replied.  
  
"I will not argue with you, Watson. I don't want you continuing with this. I will not have you put yourself in danger." He said, glaring at me.  
  
I met his stare and considered a moment before saying, "Earlier, you said that you and Mr. Wilkinson ...separated because your love was placed elsewhere. Will you tell me where?"  
  
Holmes was silent for a moment as he rose slowly from my bed. "That is none of your business." He replied with a low voice.  
  
"Oh, but I think that it is, Holmes." I waited for a moment, but it was evident that a response was not going to be given. I reached down and picked up the brandy, and poured myself another drink.  
  
"You shan't find your answer there." Holmes commented, but with a gentle edge to his voice.  
  
"Well, seeing as no answers are forthcoming from you, I may as well try." I gave him a forced smile, "Now if you'll excuse me, Holmes, I need to 'hide from the world', as you so succinctly put it."  
  
His eyes closed for a brief moment and his head dropped slightly before he simply left, closing my door without a word. 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: See part 1.  
  
*****  
  
The next morning I came down to breakfast, dressed and ready to leave. Apart from a little awkwardness regarding my back, no other discomfort could be seen to be plaguing me...I had long ago learnt to drink without over-zealous affliction in the morning.  
  
Holmes was silent at the table, reading a newspaper and not so much as giving me a look as he said, "I should have thought you would still be in bed, Doctor."  
  
"I am perfectly well, Holmes, and ready to visit the next person on the list." I replied as I walked to the window to look out over the street, a gesture I suspect I have acquired from Holmes.  
  
"Surely your indulgence has not caused you to lose your memory of our discussion last night." Holmes commented dryly.  
  
I turned back to look at him. "Our discussion? You are referring to your instruction I take it?" I replied pointedly.  
  
"You may call it what you wish, Doctor, but it still stands. You are not to follow up on this case any further." He said as if instructing a pupil, still without his eyes leaving the newspaper.  
  
I moved over to him and pushed the newspaper down so I could look at him. "And I meant what I said. I gave you my word. I shall see you out of this, Holmes." I replied, gently but firmly. I wasn't angry at his behaviour, more saddened. I realised that a lot had happened over the past few days, and I wasn't sure if he knew how to manage with it all. I turned and went to leave the room, not expecting an answer.  
  
"Watson..." Holmes said after me, springing to his feet. He moved over to me and although his features were neutral, I could see a struggle in his eyes. He really wasn't sure how to conduct himself. He finally laid a slim hand on my shoulder. "Be careful." He said simply.  
  
I gave him a warm smile and a nod before retrieving my rather inadequate coat and hat and leaving the warm surroundings of our rooms to brave the swirling bitterness of the winter morning. 


	10. Chapter 10

For disclaimer and A/N see part 1  
  
*****  
  
The harsh crunch of snow under my heavy footsteps seemed to amplify through my body and assault my seemingly beating shoulder as I walked with quick, decisive steps. Finally reaching my target, I stopped and surveyed the building, I only hoped distaste wasn't as obviously etched on my features as it was in mind.  
  
Over the years, I had been taken to many undesirable locations by Holmes for the purposes of his inquiries. Yet even now I couldn't quell the dislike that automatically rose in me as I looked upon the brothel Holmes had sent me to.  
  
Sucking in a harsh breath, I drove myself to walk through the doors, the warmth and oppression of the crowded, noisy room immediately assailing me as unsympathetically as the cold outside had.  
  
My eyes flittered over the room, and I must confess I couldn't help but stare slightly. I had been in places like this before, sometimes with Holmes and sometimes for medical purposes...but never alone, and I felt almost bare without Holmes' support.  
  
One or two women took the trouble to look up and smile at my entrance, most didn't bother, already busy with some man or woman. A man suddenly pushed past me to get to the bar, sending me stumbling a step forward as I nervously looked about the place. It must have been painfully obvious to nearly everyone in the room just how out of place I was.  
  
Pulling Holmes' list out of my pocket, I hastily looked down it, eager to get this over with as quickly as possible. The name given was simply Annie, and a note beside it in Holmes' familiar hand assuring that the name would be enough.  
  
I made my way to the bar myself, apologising along the way when knocking into someone. A man behind the bar came forward, and a definite smirk played over his features as he looked me up and down, assessing me.  
  
"And what, *Sir*..." he stressed the word with an amused quirk of his eyebrow, "...can I do for you? I'm guessing Brandy to be your poison?"  
  
I held up a hand with a polite smile to refuse the drink, knowing it not be wise after the previous night. "No, I am quite alright, thank you. I'm looking for Annie."  
  
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at me, his smile still playing across his face. "Now what would *you* know of *her*?" He asked with a thoughtful expression.  
  
"I've been sent by a friend of mine." I explained shortly, unwilling to share Holmes' name.  
  
The blonde bartender laughed and motioned to a girl who couldn't have been much older than 15 to go and fetch her. She nodded with a slight grin and disappeared upstairs.  
  
"And who is it I have the pleasure of serving?" The tall barman asked, again that same amusement shining in his eyes. I wasn't quite sure if I liked his attitude towards me, and I was rather wary of sharing my name with him.  
  
"Watson." I replied shortly, giving him a slight, good-natured smile.  
  
His restless motions around the bar that had been continuing throughout our exchange suddenly ceased as his smile widened. "And would that be a Doctor Watson?" He asked, but keeping his voice respectfully low.  
  
Once again, I was startled at his knowledge of me. "Yes...that's right, but how did you..."  
  
"Know?" He asked with a laugh, picking up a glass. "There is only one Watson I know of, and that is that police fellow's companion." He met my eyes, and his look made it clear that there was a reason for not speaking Holmes' name and that I should follow suit.  
  
I nodded and smiled as he handed me a drink anyway. "Tell me, Sir, how much is it that you know of his current situation?"  
  
"I know that a friend of his is dead...murder is the rumour going about here. Horrible." He replied. He suddenly took a great interest in the glass he was cleaning, more interest than was necessary. "It's his poor brother my thoughts are with, all they had were each other." He said slowly before looking back up at me and quirking an eyebrow with a slight smile, "but here's Annie." He motioned with his head to the steps.  
  
I shan't soon forget that first meeting with Annie. She is perhaps the only other person whom intrigues me nearly as much as Holmes. She hurried down the steps, hands lifting her deep blue skirts just a little as delicate feet sprang on the wooden boards of the stairs. Her hair, that was an unusual shade of auburn, had obviously at some point been pinned upon her head, but as if fighting a losing battle, it was falling away, adding a look of near fluster to her, a disposition I would later find out not to be one of her usual qualities.  
  
When she reached me, she seemed to realise what kind of state she must be in, but rather than try to rescue the hair, she instead just let it all free, revealing hair that reached past her shoulder blades, and it was a gesture, I must admit, that rather startled me.  
  
"Madam..." I began.  
  
"Yes, Doctor Watson, a pleasure to meet you." She greeted with a smile and took up my hand, shaking it.  
  
I was starting to wonder if there was in fact anyone in London who did not know who I was. "Yes...I'm afraid all I know of your name is Annie..." I confessed with some embarrassment.  
  
"And that is all you need." She quickly assured. She took a quick look around and then waved over to the bartender. "We shall be upstairs if you need us, Andrew."  
  
He nodded back with a wink, and a slight blush overcame me as Annie motioned me to follow her back upstairs.  
  
We entered a fairly large yet bare room. A dressing table, a cupboard a table and a bed. Annie chuckled at my look when I realised there were no chairs and she motioned me to the bed.  
  
I sat myself down with as much delicacy as possible, still glancing around the room a little nervously. "I am here on behalf of..."  
  
"Holmes...yes." She nodded as she sat down at the dressing table, taking her brush up and running it through her hair. "I can't believe Lestrade has shut him in that house of yours...actually, yes I can believe it of him..." She murmured with a frustrated shake of her head.  
  
"He is trying to assist..." I assured, clasping my hands together.  
  
"Oh, I've no doubt his heart's in the right place, but that means absolutely nothing when it comes to results." She replied with an almost disbelieving chuckle as she gathered all her hair up.  
  
I watched her actions with a moment of fascination. She had quick, delicate hands that managed to tame the pleasantly unusual hair with ease. "It's on Holmes behalf that I'm here. It seems that he hopes you can help in someway."  
  
"Oh he does, does he?" She replied with a slightly amused smile, pinning her hair securely to the back of her head. "Well, I'll say freely now if it were anyone else, I wouldn't lift a finger to help...but as it is...although I warn now, there's not that much I can tell, not that's useful anyway."  
  
I was only just able to hold back my sigh, but I gave a pleasant smile. "Well, then perhaps if you just start with the character of the victim...?"  
  
Annie arched an eyebrow at me, giving an almost amused smile. "Now where's the point in that, hm? I thought you were asking on behalf of Holmes...and he already knows the boy intimately."  
  
I looked at her with a touch of frustration that turned to annoyance as I saw the playfulness on her features...just the way her eyes held mine, it was if she could see right into my very soul, to the things that bothered me, as if, indeed, she was testing me. "Yes...well...I never met the man."  
  
"Really?" She replied in a voice that suggested anything but the innocence of the word. "How odd..." Yet she seemed far too knowing.  
  
I could not stand it any longer, being mocked. I sprang up from the bed, a frown on my darkened features. "Look here, if you're not going to help me, then say so now...I have more important things to do than sit here and listen to your mocking, thank you very much." I had tried to keep it as a rebuke, yet the underlying hurt of the past few days managed to seep through into it.  
  
Annie turned completely to look at me, shock clear on her features. She stood up and moved over, to my surprise taking my hands in hers and meeting my eyes with a soft look. "Oh, Doctor...I am sorry...I was only taking a bit of fun...didn't mean for you to take it serious like."  
  
It was embarrassment that deepened my frown that time...as I stumbled toward the door, I wondered how many more times I would make a fool of myself. I hurried down the stairs, ignoring her calls to come back and rushed past Andrew so as not to see his surprised look as I ran from the place, running as fast as I could down the icy road away from all of them, including Holmes. 


End file.
